


The Letter

by andromedacrawley



Series: Filling in the Gaps [3]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:53:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25025716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andromedacrawley/pseuds/andromedacrawley
Summary: Edith let out a small laugh. "You know, for someone so full of romantic notions like running away with the chauffeur, you're an awful lot like Mary when it comes to these things."Sybil writes a letter to her future mother-in-law but it isn’t as easy as she hopes it will be.
Relationships: Edith Crawley & Sybil Crawley, Mary Crawley & Sybil Crawley, Mary Crawley/Matthew Crawley, Matthew Crawley/Lavinia Swire, Tom Branson/Sybil Crawley
Series: Filling in the Gaps [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1812127
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	The Letter

**Author's Note:**

> I came up with the idea for this while writing my oneshot The Pictures. I consider this to be its sequel, but you don't need to read it to understand this story! Enjoy

_Dear Mrs. Branson,_

_I wanted to take the opportunity to write you._

Sybil frowned. No— that sounded awfully formal. This was her future _mother-in-law_ , for heaven's sake, she could afford to be more personable. She took out another piece of paper.

_Dear Mrs. Branson,_

_I wanted to introduce myself to you before we have the chance to meet in person. My name is Sybil Crawley and I am the woman who wishes to marry your son. I have known him for some time now and come to see all his virtues._

Sybil frowned. It was still stilted— awkward, even. With a lofty sigh, she put her pen down, cast the remnants of her failed letters into the fire, and vowed to start afresh the following morning.

* * *

"What are you writing?"

Sybil started, dragging a line of black ink across the paper. She bit back a groan, relieved when it was only Edith. "Goodness," she breathed as her sister approached. "You startled me."

"Sorry." Edith stood by her desk. "Mama sent me up to remind you that Mr. Travis will be at dinner tonight. To talk about the wedding."

Sybil nodded. "I remember."

"So who are you writing to?" asked Edith, tilting her head. "I know it can't be a suitor."

How true that was. Even if Sybil weren't engaged, it was an unlikely scenario. So many of the young men she had met in London were dead now, thanks to the war. It was a sad reality but as genial and kind as many of them had been, Sybil was fairly confident that no gentleman would make her even half as happy as she was with Tom. "It's for Tom's mother," she admitted.

"His mother?" Edith started. "Whatever for?"

"She thinks we are making a mistake. That we don't know what we are getting into." She gave her sister a warning glare, not in the mood to hear her own concerns. "I thought maybe if I introduced myself to her, she could see how serious I am... but honestly I don't know how well I am doing."

Edith seemed to ponder this. "May I read it?"

Sybil hesitated before handing it over. "Careful— the ink's wet. I'll have to rewrite it anyway..."

_Dear Mrs. Branson,_

_I know it will only be a matter of time before you and I meet in person, but I wanted a chance to introduce myself properly. My name is Sybil Crawley and I am the woman who wishes to marry your son. I know Tom has likely informed you of how everything came to be, but I wanted a chance to express my utmost sincerity to you._

_I care very much about Tom. He has helped me gain a greater perspective of the world I live in and enlightened me to the harsh realities of it. I may have been born into a world of wealth and privilege but I have grown weary of it. I love my family a great deal but I do not hold any great love for the society they are a part of. Leaving it will be of no consequence to me and I am looking forward to marriage._

Edith glanced over the paper at Sybil's eager face. "Well?"

"It's very... forgive me, darling, but it's a little stiff."

Sybil groaned. "I know! I can't get it right!"

Edith pursed her lips together. "It's not all bad," she insisted, glancing it over again. "You know what message you want to send... only it lacks any passion. And... well, you do love Branson, don't you?"

"Tom," corrected Sybil, irate. "And you know I do!"

"Yes... but Mrs. Branson might not. And nowhere in here do you tell her that." Edith handed the letter back with a knowing smile. "You say that you love us, but you ' _care very much_ ' about him."

Sybil blinked. She hadn't even realized that... then again, she knew she wasn't always the most forthcoming about how she felt. It was hard, for a time, to even admit to herself how she felt about Tom. She purses her lips, shifting ever so slightly on her bench seat. "Well, what else?"

Edith seemed surprised to be asked, but sat down beside Sybil on the bench. "Well," she said, in that flustered tone she adopted when she was taken by surprise, "I know you want to impress her but I don't think you will do that by using long words. Just— speak from your heart. Tell her how you really feel."

Sybil stared down at the letter. "I'm trying to. I just— I don't know how to do it."

"Perhaps you could pretend you are writing it to him," suggested Edith. "Say it to her just as you would to him."

Sybil blushed at the thought. "I don't really..." she mumbled before trailing off.

Edith arched an eyebrow. "You don't what?"

"I don't write letters to him like that."

"You don't?" Edith was baffled. "Then what are all those little notes you give to Anna?"

Sybil shrugged, trying to hide her embarrassment. Her sisters weren't stupid; she figured they knew why she kept slipping notes to Anna, but she had never had a verbal confirmation of it until now. "Not much. Mostly... ' _I miss you_ ' or ' _I can't wait to see you later_ '." She sighed. "He's the poetic one, not me."

"Really?"

"Yes, really!" Sybil insisted. "He's a very clever man!"

"I don't doubt that," assured Edith, "He tears through the books in the library. But... I don't know. It seems strange to me... he taught me to drive and yet I hardly know a thing about him." Edith paused. "Can I read them?"

She felt her face burning. "They're private!"

"I'm only asking so I can give you advice! Do you want it or not?"

Sybil grumbled before pulling open the drawer where she kept Tom's notes. She rifled through them, using her body as a shield from Edith's prying eyes. She found one that she was certain wouldn't make her feel nearly as embarrassed as some others before thrusting it into her sister's hands. "Here," she said, slamming the drawer shut.

Edith let out a small laugh. "You know, for someone so full of romantic notions like running away with the chauffeur, you're an awful lot like Mary when it comes to these things." Sybil flushed even more deeply as she read it aloud: " _When you spoke of continuing your nursing today in the car, your eyes were shining in the most beautiful way. It reminded me of those days when you spoke of the vote— I think it was that look that made me fall in love with you."_ Edith blinked before softening. "This is really quite sweet."

"He is," said Sybil, staring at her feet. Tom was so eloquent— he would make a wonderful journalist. It made all her words look so inadequate in comparison.

"Why are you so bashful about it? If a man was sending me things like this, I would be showing it off to you right away!" There was trace of envy in her voice as Edith handed the note back to Sybil.

She stared down at Tom's spindly handwriting before meeting her sister's gaze. "It's just— well, I suppose it's because we've had to keep it secret for so long... and I'm not used to this. He's the first man I've ever loved."

Edith's eyes lost any trace of jealousy. "You're lucky, Sybil. I hope you realize that."

"I do."

"So let him know how you feel... and let her know how you feel, too. I'm willing to bet no woman is good enough for him, so you need to prove how much you love him. Tell her what made you fall for him. Then she'll have to see it."

Sybil smiled. It wasn't often her and Edith had talks like this... "Have you ever thought of becoming a writer?" asked Sybil.

Edith was perplexed. "Why do you ask that?"

"Well, you've been such a help to me!" It suddenly seemed so clear to Sybil. "You've clearly a talent for it— and it would give you a purpose! You could be a journalist, just like Tom is!" Technically he wasn't a journalist _yet_ but he had applied to several papers in Dublin already. Sybil was confident that anyone with half a brain would see his talent and the job offers would pile up... but then again, she was willing to acknowledge she might be biased.

"I hadn't thought of it," Edith said, blinking. "I doubt Papa would let me..."

"You don't need his permission! Besides," Sybil couldn't resist grinning, "I'll be running away with chauffeur— I doubt he would have enough energy to be mad at both of us."

Edith laughed. "You can be the daring one. I think I'll try and find my purpose in something less controversial."

"Thank you. Really." Sybil stared down at the letter. "You've given me a lot to think about."

Edith rose to her feet, kissing Sybil affectionately on the temple. "I'm glad to be a help." She walked out of the room without another word, leaving Sybil to her thoughts.

* * *

Sybil mentally composed her letter during dinner, too bored by the conversation to really pay it much attention. Mr. Travis was giving Lavinia and Matthew some counseling, lecturing them on how difficult marriage could be... maybe she ought to listen, but Sybil was certain the priest who would marry them in Ireland would give them the same sort of talk.

It wasn't until her gaze flickered on Mary, who looked so... well, _numb_. She looked just as far away as Sybil had been, eyes staring straight ahead. Her plate was mostly full, her wine barely drunk. Sybil tried to meet her eye, but Mary seemed intent on being as far away from reality as possible. There was glumness in her expression, a resignation in her posture that made Sybil certain her lack of attention wasn't because she wasn't fantasizing about her upcoming marriage or writing letters to Mrs. Carlisle... though Sybil wasn't even certain if Richard's mother was alive or not.

It was clear to Sybil things were not well once dinner concluded. Mary was unusually silent as she convened with Sybil, Lavinia, and Edith to talk about family relations while Matthew and Papa smiled and drank their port. Sybil wondered if Tom would ever be allowed that privilege once they were married.

"Are you alright, Mary?" asked Lavinia finally, noting her silence.

"Perfectly," said Mary, with a smile that didn't meet her eyes. "I'm only thinking of my own wedding. I dare say a number of the same guests will turn up at mine." Sybil could tell it was lie; the answer was too well rehearsed.

However, things took even more of a turn when Matthew and Papa joined them. Lavinia excused herself, walking across the room to Matthew. Sybil followed Mary's gaze as Edith began talking about wedding gifts. Lavinia was linking her arm with Matthew's leading him over to a chair. Once he was sat down, she stood nearly him, talking lowly. He was smiling, his hand playing with her fingers, reverence in his eyes. It must be torture for Mary, Sybil thought, turning her gaze to her sister, who disguised her true feelings behind a mask.

"I have rather a headache," announced Mary a short time later after rising to her feet. "So I think I'll turn in early tonight."

"I'm so sorry," Matthew said, overhearing what she said. He had risen to his feet, legs shaky from the exertion. He was weaning himself away from the use of the chair, regaining the use of his muscles. He normally used a stick to help support himself, but tonight Lavinia was his stick, linking arms with him and letting him lean on her. "I hope it's nothing too serious." Sybil couldn't see his face, but he sounded concerned.

Sybil didn't miss the fleeting look of longing in her sister's eye before it was replaced by sorrow. "Oh, it's nothing. I'm sure I'll be fine, once I get some rest." She smiled, bid everyone a goodnight, before leaving.

Sybil waited a minute or two before making her own exit. "You know how Mary likes to minimize things," she said. "I can get her something for the pain."

"You're off duty tonight," Mama reminded her. "I'm sure if it's bad enough, Mary will ring for Anna."

"I just want to be sure," insisted Sybil, moving to the door. "It won't be a moment."

Sybil stole up the stairs, surprised when she approached her sister's door to find it open— not wide, but Mary had clearly not closed it all the way. Sybil was about to enter but heard a muffled sob. She paused, peering in.

Mary was laying on her bed, stomach down and hiding her face from the world, as if she were too humiliated to even show her pain in the emptiness of her room. Sybil was frozen; she had never seen Mary like this. Mary had always been so stoic, so strong... she hardly ever cried. But right now... well, she seemed inconsolable.

This was about Matthew. How horrible it must be, to watch the person she loved with someone else. Sybil wished she could bring herself to dislike Matthew, for hurting her sister in this way, but the fact remained he was still their cousin— their sweet, honorable, kind cousin. If he knew that Mary was distraught like this over him, would it change his mind?

Sybil realized then how lucky she really was— even when she had been so indecisive, Tom's devotion hadn't wavered. In some ways, his proposal in York wasn't so different from Matthew's. There had been a question of money, a question of prospects. The only difference is that Tom waited three long years for her to make up her mind— Matthew only granted Mary three months before withdrawing his.

Knowing Mary would hate to be seen so vulnerable, Sybil closed the door and rejoined the others downstairs.

* * *

Tom was flipping through a newspaper when he heard the sound of heeled shoes against the floor. He lowered the paper, grinning wide. "I can't tell you how glad I am to see you," he said, setting the paper down as Sybil walked into the garage.

She met his smile, but there was a nervousness to her. It was then he noticed the paper in her hand. "What's this?" Tom asked lightly.

"It's the letter. For your mother." Sybil bit her lip— did she know what the sight of that did to him? "You can read it," she said, placing it in his hands, folding hers behind her back. "In fact... I want you to. To make sure I won't offend her in any way."

"I'm sure you won't," said Tom, smiling reassuringly at her. Mam hadn't taken the news as well as he had hoped, but perhaps he had been too optimistic. "She'll love you." He began to unfold the letter.

"Don't!" exclaimed Sybil suddenly, her small hand reaching for his wrist. Her fingers didn't even form a circle to the other side. "Wait. Until later."

Tom was confused but tucked the letter into his pocket. "Alright," he promised. "So... how goes the wedding plans?" He wasn't interested, truthfully... He liked Mr. Crawley and Miss Swire was a kind girl, but the person he cared most about here was Sybil.

It wasn't until later, until they had exchanged their goodbye kisses and Tom had retreated into his cabin that he remembered the letter and her insistence he read it. The paper was somewhat crumpled— Tom cursed to himself— but otherwise fine. Tom sat on the edge of his bed, wondering just why his beloved wanted him to read it. Sybil's letters, while sweet in their simplicity, were hardly anything that would offend anyone.

_Dear Mrs. Branson,_

_I wanted to have the chance to introduce myself properly before we meet in person. My name is Sybil Crawley and I am the woman who will be marrying your son. He has told me so much about you and told me of your reluctance to accept our upcoming marriage. I don't blame you— I know it sounds unlikely, the daughter of an Earl, falling in love with the chauffeur. But I'm not like many ladies and Tom is not like many chauffeurs._

_Tom and I bonded first over our shared political views. He was the first person in my life to take me and my ambitions seriously. He gave me political pamphlets, which allowed me the chance to gain a better understanding of the things I was passionate about. I don't have to tell you that I have lived a sheltered life, one of immense wealth and privilege, but Tom has helped me see past my gilded cage to the harsh reality of the real world. Nursing has helped me gained an even clearer view but without Tom, I am certain I never would have even taken the steps to pursue it and merely sat idly by like many women of my station._

_When Tom told me he loved me, I confess that I was very surprised. The only men I had ever considered in that light were sons of viscounts or wealthy businessmen looking for a way to join the upper echelons of society. I didn't handle it well at all; I was a stammering mess and I am afraid I upset him greatly. He offered to hand in his resignation but I couldn't accept that. I'm so many ways, he had become my only real friend, the one person in my life who took me seriously and didn't see me as a baby._

_During the war, nursing was my primary focus... the other was Tom. He never failed to let his love for me show, always finding ways to remind me. But even when he wasn't, he was always there. I would replay our conversations and his vows to stay at Downton until I was willing to run away with him constantly while I took long walks and as I stitched up wounded soldiers. It wasn't even just the times he would tell me of his love— it was the simple things, like bringing me a basket of food from the house for my lunch or tell me stories about Ireland. Whenever he was upset, I worried about him. Whenever he was happy, I smiled. When he was called up for war, I cried myself to sleep that night, praying that I would wake up and it had been a horrible dream. When I learned he had been rejected due to a benign heart condition, I was overjoyed to know I wouldn't be losing someone so important to me._

_Loving him was easy as breathing but acknowledging I was in love with him was not. I love my family a great deal, even if they don't always understand me... but I have no love for the world they live in. I hope it doesn't sound ungrateful for me to say so, when I have access to everything and far too many people are granted nothing, but it isn't the sort of life I want. I've watched my older sisters being shoved at men twice their age because they possess money and a title with no care for love. The marriage between my own parents was little more than a business transaction at the start, though they have grown to love one another since. I'm not prepared to take a gamble on my happiness and hope that Lord So-and-So will make a good husband and be someone I can love and respect when I know Tom will._

_I know my experiences are limited— before Tom, I had never loved anyone. I had fleeting crushes that dissolved into nothing. I know I am young and that perhaps you might think I will change my mind when I realize I am no longer living in a country manor and being attended to by footmen and maids and butlers, but I can assure you I won't. I know that life is available to me easily and if I wanted it, I would take it. But I know if I did, my heart would not be as full as it is when I set eyes on Tom. I would never laugh as hard again, I would never smile as widely again, I would not dare to dream as I have. And truthfully, I would not be happy._

_I have been fortunate, in so many respects, to have been spared the pain of rejection, the cruel sting of a broken heart, and to receive an enormous amount of love. Tom has demonstrated so much patience with me and for that I am forever grateful to him. If my sisters only had men like him in their lives, I suspect they would be a great deal happier... but they're content to live their lives according to a system I don't believe in._

_You and I love him a great deal and your blessing of our union would mean so much to him. He has only ever spoken of you with love and gratitude, which is why I was so eager to speak to you. You don't have to like me— all I ask is that you accept me for his sake. His happiness means everything to me, and I promise I shall devote all my waking hours to it._

_Your future daughter-in-law,_

_Sybil C. Crawley_

Tom wiped his eyes, astonished by his tears. He hasn't expected something so impassioned, something so clearly in her voice. It was if she were here, speaking to him... even though some of the things she had written were things she never said aloud to him.

He reread the letter, over and over again, touched every time. For so long, her love had seemed unreachable but now he felt it— it was something palpable. Tom's wildest dreams were now a reality and he couldn't be more happy.

But best of all was the realization he wasn't alone. He had pined after her for years... When she came into the garage that wondrous night, announcing she had made her decision, Tom had foolishly believed that he still loved her more than she loved him. In time, he was certain their love would balance out, the longer they were together... but now he realized they were equally matched. Tom remembered the day she had reminded him that even aristocrats had feelings, even if they were able to hide them better. He supposed he had no idea just how skilled she was.

It was selfish but Tom was unable to resist placing her letter under his pillow. He would send it to Mam... eventually. But for now, Tom wanted his Sybil and her beautiful words all to himself.

* * *

Tom had two tickets for _The Belle of New York_ in his pocket when Sybil asked, "Has your mother responded yet?"

"Responded to what?" He asked foolishly, their hands intertwined as they walked along the shadowy path. He was already thinking ahead to their evening ahead, of holding her hand and wrapping an arm around her in the dark theater, the kisses they would share later on...

"The letter I sent her. Has she replied yet?"

_The letter under his pillow._ "Erm, yes. Yes, she did." When he saw the inquiring look in Sybil's eyes, he said, "She loved it. She loves you. She told me how wonderful you were." If Mam were to read what Sybil wrote, he was convinced that was how she would feel.

"Did she?" Sybil sounded doubtful... that wasn't a good sign. "Can I read it?" A silence. He watched as Sybil connected the dots. "You never sent it, did you?"

Tom sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Why didn't you?" Sybil had stopped walking. Her lower lip was sticking out ever so slightly... she probably didn't even realize she was doing it. "Was something wrong with it?"

Tom shook his head frantically. "No— it was perfect. Really." Before she could ask, he explained, "I wanted it. For myself. I just— well, I never realized how much you cared. How much you loved me."

There was a sad look in her eyes. "Was my agreeing to marry you not enough?" She asked softly.

"It's not that. Not at all. It's only just— you keep your cards close. You're reserved at times... but I love that about you, just as I love everything about you." She smiled and his heart beat a little faster. "And... well, it was a long time for me... I loved you long before I told you. And there was a part of me that thought... well, I thought I had a head start. That it would take you years to catch up to me. And... I see now I was wrong. Very wrong."

Sybil's gaze softened. "I do love you," she whispered to him. "So much."

"I know." He leaned forward, kissing her forehead. "And I'm sorry about not sending it. I'll post it first thing tomorrow morning, I promise."

Sybil shook her head. "You can keep it." Before Tom could say anything, she said, "The only person who needs to understand how much I love you is you."

Tom stared down at her in awe. "But— what about Mam?"

Sybil shook her head. "Once things are settled, we'll show her ourselves."

Tom was overwhelmed. He had no idea what he had done to deserve her, but he thanked God every day that he had. Without any warning, Tom took her face in his hands and kissed her, smiling against her lips as she kissed him back. He could feel her love, all her longing, all the things she didn't always say... and he knew he would never tire of it.


End file.
